


Chronicle of House Moorshead

by ZomBill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZomBill/pseuds/ZomBill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revisit the events of the series through the eyes of a small house in the Riverlands. Each main character's choices are made by real-life people as the five of them together attempt to navigate the treacherous world of Westeros. Note: poster is not writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Story of Ser Merik and Squire Jonah

**Author's Note:**

> It should be made clear that the person posting this story and responding to comments is not the author/writer. The poster is the author's friend and took part in the story as it unfolded.
> 
> This story has strong spoilers to Green Ronin’s _Peril at King’s Landing_. It begins a year before _A Game of Thrones_. Non-canon characters and places will be defined in notes when mentioned. Any other names you don’t recognize can be looked up at [A Wiki of Ice and Fire](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Main_Page).
> 
>  **House Moorshead:** An original house in the Riverlands, located near the Tumblestone River and loyal to House Tully.  
>  **Blackhorn:** the castle of House Moorshead.  
>  **Merik:** a knight of House Moorshead, and uncle to its young lord.  
>  **Lord Rhys:** the young lord of House Moorshead  
>  **Nolan:** the former lord of Moorshead. Recently deceased.  
>  **Maester Rudolphus:** the maester of Blackhorn.  
>  **Septa Alanna:** recently joined the Faith after her husband Nolan died.  
>  **Kellin:** Alanna’s son, younger brother to Lord Rhys.

Ser Merik rode heavily down the Kingsroad, wishing he were only steps instead of days away from Blackhorn Keep, his home. Though it was only just after the noon, he felt tired enough to desire a real bed, hot food, and perhaps a cup of Dornish Red to ease his stomach. He had taken many journeys over the years, but the feeling that traveling was more a chore than an adventure was a new one, and it surprised him. Perhaps it was the monotony of riding alone that did it--- his brother Nolan had been a frequent companion on the road--- or perhaps he was just getting old.

But the new Lord Rhys, Nolan's son, had needed a message delivered all the way to House Buckwell at Antlers, and it seemed he would not trust a lesser knight than his uncle Ser Merik to deliver it. Merik had wondered privately why the boy did not just ask Maester Rudolphus to send a raven, but he did not want to disturb the young lord's fragile confidence more than necessary, so he accepted the order without question. He could be a great lord someday, Merik reflected, but the path there was narrow and difficult to tread, and now, with King Robert's tenuous grip on the Seven Kingdoms, was not a forgiving time in which to tread it.

_Or to tread the Kingsroad._ He nudged his old courser around an especially deep mudhole, the result of last night's rain that had come up suddenly and spoiled his sleep. The road was no longer as well maintained or guarded as it ought to be, a point driven home as he rounded a rocky outcrop and found himself face to face with a trio of bandits who looked as though they had come straight from the mountain clans that haunted the High Road to The Vale.

"Your horse," The leader growled without preamble. He was large and heavily scarred, with crude armor and an unkempt beard. Ser Merik measured the three men before him with an experienced glance, knowing that they would fight powerfully but with little technique. He was not concerned.

"I happen to like my horse," Ser Merik replied casually, loosening his sword in its scabbard, "Her name is Pinto and she gets testy without a nice hot mash in the evenings." His ears strained for sounds behind him that might indicate more men, but he could discern nothing and he didn't dare turn around. _Nolan would've had a better comeback_ , he couldn't help thinking.

The fight began with a shout from the leader and proved to be somewhat more than Ser Merik had anticipated. He parried a blow from the right, than immediately swung to the left as he blocked a blow from a mace with his shield. His courser dodged and kicked and circled, taking one bandit down with a blow to the head while giving her rider the full advantage of maneuverability. Merik closed in on the large hirsute leader, deflecting heavy blows from his two-handed waraxe while he waited for an opening. It came.

"From your left!" A youthful voice made his concentration waver for just an instant, and he turned too late to stop one of the other brigands from landing a wild blow on his left bicep just above his oaken shield. He saw the rusty blade bite deep into his arm an instant before the pain arrived along vibrating nerves. Chaos overtook his mind for an instant before he regained control of his limbs and pivoted back towards the leader--- just in time to absorb a massive blow from his waraxe that swept him off the horse. 

The landing jarred him from head to toe, almost breaking his grip on his sword, but Ser Merik nonetheless managed to roll and regain his feet. As the two enemies closed in on him he wished fervently that he were wearing his full metal suit instead of boiled leather, but Lord Rhys had asked him to travel covertly, so his plate armor and helm were hanging uselessly in his saddlebags. He had never been fast enough to make full use of light armor and so relied on the protection afforded him by full plate, as did most knights, and without it he felt vulnerable and exposed.

The robber leapt forward again and aimed another uncoordinated blow at his injured shield arm, hoping to repeat his last success. Though his shoulder screamed at him, Ser Merik managed to raise his shield enough to deflect the blow, then tried a low slash beneath the shield to catch his attacker unawares. The bandit screamed and dropped his sword, revealing a brief burst of blood and entrails before he clutched at his stomach with both hands and struggled away into the forest. Only the leader remained.

Ser Merik dodged blow after blow from the enormous man's oversized weapon, praying to the Warrior for an opening before it was too late. Warm blood covered his shield side and he was tiring quickly. Twist to the right, back up and give ground, duck low--- the hit came unexpectedly as he strafed sideways a second slower than he should have, landing square on his shield and shattering it as the momentum propelled him to the ground.

He shook his head dazedly as the leader advanced on him with a harsh grin. "A hot mash, huh?" The uncouth bandit grated. "Just wait'll I'm done with you!" He raised his axe triumphantly over his head for a final coup de grace, and it was then that Ser Merik finally saw his chance. His sword had fallen beneath him, but he pulled a long knife out of his boot and lurched upwards, burying the knife deep into the brigand's unprotected chest.

As his enemy fell, Ser Merik took a step back and shook his head again, trying to catch his breath. An awareness of his surroundings returned, and he became cognizant of the sound of raucous clapping at his back. He spun around and beheld the bizarre sight of an upside-down boy, hanging casually by his knees from a gnarled maple tree and applauding appreciatively. As he stared at the youth in vague surprise, the boy grinned, flipped off the branch and landed catlike on his feet. "That was great fighting, mister," His strident voice was tinged with admiration as he edged towards the knight. 

Ser Merik studied the boy automatically as he approached, noting the dirty face, fraying clothes, and knobby knees identical to a thousand other common-born boys drifting among the roads and villages of Westeros. This one looked taller and lankier than most, standing almost the height of the knight's shoulder, and his dark, wavy hair was cut uneven and short in the back but left longer and jagged in the front, falling over his eyes. The boy had obviously gotten his height early, the way boys sometimes did before puberty, and his voice was still young and clear, without a hint of huskiness or threat of breaking to overshadow it. His stance was almost preternaturally alert, save for a deliberate forward stoop of the shoulders. Anyone's boy, really, perhaps the age his own son would have been if he had lived. Ser Merik smiled wanly. "Thanks for the help," he said dryly, with a meaningful glance at the long dagger tucked under the boy's belt. 

The boy's narrow fingers irritably grasped at its hilt. "I could've killed them _all_ ," said the boy defensively, "but it didn't look like you needed the help." He bent down to rummage through the bandits' bags and pockets.

Ser Merik shrugged his shoulders, and the flash of fire from his left arm reminded him that he had other things to attend to. He explored his injury wearily with his fingers. Not as bad as it felt, really. If he could bandage it up and keep it clean for Maester Rudolphus to stitch back at the Keep, it would be no more than an exciting story to tell the Lady Alanna and her children when he returned. _Septa_ Alanna...

"You should pour some boiling wine on that, mister." The boy's insistent voice brought him back to the task at hand. Ser Merik moved towards his horse and fumbled with the saddlebags, but his fingers felt stiff and the contents spilled out over the ground. His helm came to a rest almost at the youth's feet, and the boy's mouth dropped open. "Are you a _knight_?" He whispered, and his eyes were filled with awe.

Ser Merik couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's innocent reverence. "I am indeed," he replied, "Ser Merik of House Moorshead." 

The boy stared at him a moment, conflicting emotions rippling across his face like reflections off the surface of a river, then he snatched up the helm from the ground and wiped the mud off onto his shirt. He approached Ser Merik almost timidly with his helm held in outstretched hands.

"All my life I have wished to be a knight," the boy said, speaking rapidly, "but it was never possible until... I see you have no squire with you. Please, let me be your squire. I learn quickly and I will serve you well, and I won't be any trouble. _Please_ ," The boy looked up at Merik through his rough bangs with a face full of longing.

Ser Merik looked down at the boy kindly. _These common-born boys always want to be knights, don't they? Their fathers and mothers are all farmers and servants and fishmongers, and so their sons dream of escape, of a life of nonstop adventure and heroism. If only the reality of being a knight--- the weeks camped in the cold, the impossible responsibilities, the high likelihood of brutal death--- were half as fun as they dream._

"Boy," he said gently, "I need no squire, and the only squires that House Moorshead takes are highborn, or the sons of other knights who have trained for arms from an early age. It is very rare for one of the smallfolk to have this opportunity. It is best that you return to your father or your mother and learn their trade, for in truth being a tradesman is no less honorable than being a knight, and a good deal more vital to the daily life of the kingdom." He hoped his words would placate the youth. Instead, the boy's face darkened and his slender shoulders trembled with emotion.

"My mother and my father are _dead_!" The boy shouted dramatically, his voice rising to an almost girlish pitch. He threw the helm down into the mud and strode away down the road, his trembling hands clenched into fists.

Ser Merik knelt down wearily and gathered up his things, then mounted his courser and started again along the Kingsroad in the opposite direction. He bandaged his arm as he rode. _Nolan would've known the right thing to say to the boy_ , he couldn't help thinking.

His thoughts turned to his dead brother, and then eventually to his brother's widow the Lady Alanna. His heart ached for her loss and he longed to comfort her, but he did not know how to reach her and it seemed now that she had turned away from this world all together, looking only for the solace of the Gods. And she had been so happy, and so full of life and energy, wearing bright, colorful dresses while she played with her children in the gardens...

A lifetime of caution stopped him before he went too far into his reverie. _Your brother's children,_ he reminded himself, _not yours. Your brother's wife, not yours._ He wondered what his own son would have been like, had he lived. And his poor wife, barely more than a child herself when she was married off to him, would he have grown to love her just as fiercely?

It was late afternoon by the time he arrived at this thought, and he jumped a bit in his saddle when he crested a hill and found the boy waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on a rock and eating an apple as if nothing had happened. "I'm sorry I threw your armor in the mud, Ser." He said abruptly. "I'd be a really good squire. Just give me a chance."

Caught up in the tender feelings of his memories, Ser Merik considered the boy's proposition for a moment. His last squire had never qualified for knighthood, and the squire before that one had been crippled permanently in his first tournament as a full knight. These things happened frequently, of course, but it had caused him to reevaluate his ability to train and he had declined all offers since. And these days he had enough responsibilities without adding the care of an overly bold common-born boy, green as grass. 

"You're too old to start training now, boy, " Ser Merik said, a bit severely. "A squire needs to begin life as a page, at age eight or nine. He does not become a squire until he masters the basics of swordplay and jousting. I do not have time to show you these things. Go back to your home village and apprentice yourself to a good craftsman."

The boy grimaced at him in reply, a look so full of repressed bitterness and a lifetime of frustration that the seasoned knight was taken aback. Suddenly the boy stuck the apple down the front of his shirt and leapt off the rock.

"You don't need to show me how to wield a blade. I already know how!" Holding his dagger like a sword, he executed a series of thrusts and parries on the road, whirling and turning among invisible enemies while emitting a series of loud shouts and grunts. Despite his earlier pronouncement, Ser Merik had to admit that the boy had some potential. He was fast and surprisingly graceful at an age where most boys were uncoordinated and awkward, and the moves he was demonstrating were decent enough imitations of the real thing. He'd definitely spent hours watching training sessions somewhere, although his lack of follow-through showed that he'd likely never participated in them himself. Ser Merik reminded himself of the urgency of his errand; Lord Rhys was waiting for a reply, and every hour his wound had to wait for proper treatment increased its danger. Besides, what would Lady Alanna say if he brought home a baseborn squire? She'd asked him only a few months ago to take on her younger son Kellin as a page, and he had agreed to consider it, knowing he would eventually have to say yes. Clucking to his horse, he rode around the boy and on down the road. 

"I only have twelve years!" he heard the boy shout angrily at his back as he went on down the lane. It was only as he reached the top of the next hill and started down it that he wondered how the boy could have gotten ahead of him so quickly.

Night fell and Ser Merik pushed along as far as he dared, wanting to put as much distance between the ambush site and himself as possible. Finally, as the burning in his arm increased to a fever pitch and rain threatened yet again, he veered off the road and made camp in a friendly clearing of oak and pine. He did a middling job of caring for his horse (who really was waiting crossly for her hot mash), made camp, and put a pot of wine on to boil, intending to wash his wound with it. He fell asleep well before it was ready.

***

He awoke with a dagger at his throat. "Wake up, Ser Knight!" A gravelly voice grated in his ears, and with difficulty he made out across the remains of his fire a hulking figure flanked by two smaller men in rough armor. More bandits, he saw immediately. Gods, the Kingsroad was becoming unsafe. He started to struggle upwards but was held down firmly by an unseen opponent at his back. "I wouldn't if I were you," said a soft voice into his ear. He thought of the boy immediately, but dared not turn his head. The blade at his throat was on the verge of drawing blood.

The large man across the fire rumbled dangerously. "Ser Knight," he spat, "I have it on good authority that you were the one who killed my comrades today, among them my brother. Do you deny it?" Ser Merik's eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and he saw that the speaker did indeed bear a strong resemblance the man he fought earlier today, both in features and in hairiness. Beside him stood the third bandit, the one who had been felled by his horse. Not dead after all, he supposed. _So this is how it ends._

"Did you kill my brother?" The man roared from across the fire.

Ser Merik sighed. "And I thought _he_ was the ugly one," he snarled back in what he hoped was a tone defiant enough for a knight's last words. _Nolan would have said something better_ , his mind countered mercilessly. The hands that were pinning him twitched, and he braced himself for the final cut.

But it did not come. He heard a gagging, choking sound by his right ear, warm liquid splattering on his back, and then the dagger fell and the hands released him. He whirled around immediately and saw a young man slumping over with the tip of a long dagger protruding through his chest. Behind the bandit, still gripping the dagger's hilt, was the boy. 

His eyes met Ser Merik's for a moment and suddenly the knight thought not of his lost son, but of his wife. The boy's lips were trembling and his eyes were wide with surprise and horror--- eyes with long lashes and lips that were soft and full, the knight could not help noticing. His first kill, Ser Merik thought reflexively. The boy shook himself and dropped the dead man, and the boldness and the cunning look were back in the next instant.

"Don't worry, Ser Merik!" He said loudly. "They're almost here!" Ser Merik watched as the brigands across the fire melted back into the woods and he imagined he could hear their receding footsteps. The boy touched him lightly, then moved dreamlike over to the fire and poured another flask of wine out to boil.

"Others?" Ser Merik asked hoarsely. The youth returned to his side and started peeling the bandage off his injury. "Shut up, you moonbrain," he said sharply. "I only said that to make them go away. They'll be back any minute and I think you're feverish, so let's fix your arm and get back on the road. I'll saddle up your horse." The boy moved over to the horse and began to put the riding equipment on the courser with smooth, precise movements. The horse snapped at him angrily at first, but soon quieted with a few soft words.

Ser Merik watched the boy through a growing haze of exhaustion and confusion.  
Everything about the day suddenly seemed wavering and unreal, with the boy standing as the only solid thing left in his sight. "What's your name?" He asked abruptly. 

The boy turned and looked at him full in the face for a moment before replying. "Jonah," he said decisively, then seemed to reflect further and raised his chin defiantly. His voice became firm and sure. " _Squire_ Jonah."


	2. Prologue: Lady Alanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merik brings Jonah back to Blackhorn, much to the disapproval of Lady Alanna.  
> The house begins its preparations for the journey to King's Landing.

Castle Blackhorn was not an old structure, as castles go; its walls were not yet covered with ivy, nor was the path to its courtyards so trodden that the sturdy meadow grasses could not reclaim it if traffic eased. Still, it looked over the high moorlands of its bannermen and smallfolk with an air of comforting permanence, and as Lady Alanna crested the hill on her palfrey she couldn't help but feel pride in all that her house had accomplished in its short existence.

She had loved House Moorshead from the day she married into it as a shy bride of sixteen, and in the years since her wedding she had watched excitedly as the wild, austere beauty of its holdings had been tamed into fields productive enough to support the villages that sprung up inexorably, like wildflowers after a rain. Her husband's father, the famed Jon the Ram, had won his lands for valorous deeds and immediately turned his ambitions to founding a great house, a house that could someday match the Lannisters or the Tullys in influence and glory. His wife had borne him two sons, Nolan and Merik, that were just as dedicated, and Alanna in turn had borne Nolan three fine children that had grown and thrived. But now Nolan was gone. 

Her hands trembled, then clenched firmly around the leather reins of her mount. The gods giveth and the gods taketh away, she told herself firmly. Alanna adjusted the cloth that covered her head and neck, trying to ignore the way the fabric irritated her skin. She was Septa Alanna now, and in a way, House Moorshead, along with the laughter and love she once had for her kin, had now passed irretrievably beyond her grasp. Her eldest son Rhys was now Lord Moorshead and would rule in the way he saw fit, and it was her destiny to gradually fade away, spending the rest of her days caring for the smallfolk in the name of the Seven. It was a quiet, honorable life, and it was simply a flaw in her character that the idea of it sometimes seemed unsatisfactory.

She paused her palfrey for a flock of sheep and nodded courteously as their shepherd tipped his ragged hat. It was a young Nolan who had first thought of grazing sheep on the waterlogged moors of their home, and before long they had built up a modest reputation for their wool and cheese. If it hadn't been for the Starks and their northmen... but we fear no wolf, she thought indignantly. The Moorshead house had made their words. She rode on and Nolan's old crossbow bumped against her leg. She hadn't had to use it in combat—yet.

The Blackhorn gates passed around her quickly and she passed off her horse to the first stablehand that appeared. Her maidservant was waiting for her in the front hall. "Milady," she curtseyed as Lady Alanna entered the keep. "I hope your visit to the village temple went well." She sensed an edge of agitation in the servant's tone.

"What happened?" Alanna asked her.

The girl straightened, her eyes widening in mild surprise. "Milady, Ser Merik has just returned from his journey through the Riverlands, but he is injured. The Maester is tending to him in his rooms."

Alanna swept past her and up the stairs to the living area of the castle. Injured during a simple errand on the Kingsroad? Her heart thudded anxiously in her chest. She turned down the hallway to Ser Merik's chambers and nearly collided with Maester Rudolphus, who was cleaning his hands on a rag.

"Ser Merik?" She asked him nervously, eyeing the blood on his fingers.

The Maester calmly finished wiping his hands. "The knight will live," he responded impassively. "He suffered a slash to the arm with a corroded blade, but it was well-tended on the road. I have washed and stitched the wound so that it will heal cleanly. He is resting now."

Lady Alanna looked at him closely. As always, the Maester's blank expression revealed nothing, a facet of his character she found unsettling. When he had first come to Castle Blackhorn she had been reassured by the length of his chain of office, but in the months that he had served the house since she had found his true feelings impossible to descry. Still, she could find no fault in his work, and the children seemed to like him well enough. "Thank you, Maester Rudolphus." She said with as much warmth as she could muster. He nodded and moved away down the hall, the metal links of his necklace clinking against one another gently.

She said a quick prayer to the Seven and pushed open the door. "Merik?" She said softly. She entered the room and found the knight reclining on a mound of pillows, asleep, with his left arm swathed in bandages and tied expertly against his chest. She smiled tenderly and moved towards the bed. 

"Who are you?" A strident voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she found herself staring into the eyes of a dirty boy crouching at Ser Merik's side, dressed in rags. Her smile froze on her lips. "I am Lady Alanna of House Moorshead, "she replied stiffly, eyeing the youth's bare knobby knees and bloody clothes. "I don't believe we've met. What business brings you to Castle Blackhorn?"

The boy sprung up and stood beside Ser Merik's motionless form almost fearfully. "My name is Jonah," he declared, "Squire to Ser Merik of House Moorshead." His eyes stared up at her fiercely through uneven bangs.

Alanna took a few steps closer and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of his unwashed body. "I'm sorry, Jonah, but there has been some mistake." She spoke levelly. "Ser Merik has already agreed to take on another boy for his squire, and in any case House Moorshead does not accept baseborn apprentices. You must have misunderstood."

The boy's face twisted. "You're _wrong_ ," he cried vehemently. "Ser Merik said I could be his squire. He _said_ so." His voice rose in volume, and the resting knight stirred uneasily beneath his blankets.

The youth's belligerence stunned Lady Alanna for a moment. She glanced at Ser Merik with concern, then back to the glowering boy at his side. Better to play along for the moment than to risk Merik's health, she decided. "My apologies, Jonah," she said aloud, her tone composed. "I'm sure it is just as you say. In that case, why don't you go find the nearest servant and ask for a bath and a change of clothes." The boy only frowned at her suspiciously, so she added a note of motherly sternness to her next words. "A squire of House Moorshead does _not_ run around in dirty rags like a common urchin." The boy glanced down at his attire and then, with a final mistrustful glance in her direction, darted out of the room.

Alanna sighed and pulled a chair up to Ser Merik's bedside, taking his free hand in hers and brushing the gray-streaked hair off his forehead. A dashing pair Nolan and he had made in their youth, arrayed in shining plate and galloping off to fight for House Tully during Robert's Rebellion, and their personalities had been natural complements as well; golden Nolan, the elder brother, would be outgoing and gregarious, equally quick with word or sword, while the younger dark-haired Merik would remain reserved, slower to judge and always happier to advise and follow than to lead. "Poor Merik," she murmured aloud. Bearing a burden you thought you would never have to bear, just like the rest of us, she could not help adding silently.

As if in reply, Ser Merik's lips quivered and the creases on his face deepened as he opened his eyes. Caught up in her memories, Alanna smiled down at him. "Good evening, Ser Merik," she said almost girlishly. "Have you slept well?"

The knight grinned back at her. "Waking is better with a view like this." Alanna nearly laughed, but then a small, bitter voice inside her whispered, _he rejected you_. Her shoulders tightened and her expression flattened into one of benign concern. "How did you become injured?"

Ser Merik tried to move his bandaged arm and grimaced. "Bandits on the Kingsroad," he replied. "I'll be sure to make a fine tale of it for the children. The important thing is that Lord Rhys' message was safely delivered, and the Maester says my arm should heal in time for King Robert's tournament."

Lady Alanna nodded. "I'm sure Rhys will want a fuller debriefing." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Merik, there was a baseborn boy in here earlier insisting he was your squire. What do you know of this?"

The old knight shifted on his mattress and suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. "Oh, yes, that's Jonah," he said awkwardly. "He saved my life on the Kingsroad. Killed one of the bandits himself." He looked at her with eyes that begged her to let it go, but Alanna was not deterred.  
"So you told him he could be your _squire_?" She made her displeasure plain. "An shiftless boy of common birth? Perhaps you have forgotten how hard your forefathers labored to raise the status of this house and how perilous our position has become. With times as they are, we can ill afford waste your energy— and the scarce resources of the house— on some guttersnipe who will end up no knight at all. Besides," she finished heatedly, "what about Kellin?"

Ser Merik looked up at her unhappily. "Kellin is a fine boy," he said carefully, "and will make a fine squire for any of our knights. Jonah is... untutored, but he is ambitious. I believe that he will not fail when the battle begins." His eyes became unfocused, and Alanna knew he was recalling the war.

"He was very rude to me," she said doggedly, tight-lipped. Ser Merik nodded and sighed.  
"Jonah!" he called suddenly. To her surprise, the door to the hall was ajar and the boy pushed it open almost immediately. Eavesdropping, she realized. Her eyes narrowed.  
"Ser Merik, you're all right!" he rushed over and squeezed Merik's hand excitedly, and she saw the old knight try not to wince as the boy carelessly jostled the bed. His unruly hair was damp and it appeared that the servants, taking the boy's status at his word, had brought him some of Rhys' old clothes to wear. Without the covering of dirt his features looked young and soft, not older than nine or ten, but as he stood beside her Alanna realized with a start that he was at least her height. Ser Merik cleared his throat laboriously.

"Jonah," he said sternly, with only a trace of his former warmth. "The Lady— Septa, I mean— Alanna says you were rude to her. Is this so?"  
The boy's eyes fluttered from Ser Merik to Alanna and back again. "She said I wasn't your squire," He protested.  
"That doesn't matter," Ser Merik replied firmly. "You are my squire, and as such you are required to treat your betters with respect at all times, especially a highborn lady. Now, apologize to Lady Alanna."

Alanna watched the boy's face work through a range of emotions as Merik spoke, from sullen to relieved to abashed, and to her surprise the boy immediately turned and gave her an inept bow. "I am very sorry, Lady Alanna," he said, and Alanna could hear a note of genuine shame in his young voice. 

Ser Merik smiled wearily. "Very good," he said, "Now fetch me a cup of red wine and get the housemaid to help you set up your bedchamber." The boy nodded eagerly and left the room, letting the door bang shut behind him. Alanna looked down at Ser Merik and noticed a flush spreading across his cheeks. Still feverish, she realized with some alarm. The knight sank deeper into his pillows and whispered hoarsely, "You see? He's eager to please. I'm sure you'll like Jonah a lot, once you get to know him." Lady Alanna nodded reassuringly for his sake, but as he sank into unconsciousness her lips pressed back into a thin line. He was a very good knight, but she did not think he could judge a situation like Nolan could. It seemed that the honor and survival of the house depended on her and her son Rhys alone. 

***

A few days later Lady Alanna was sitting disconsolately at her desk with columns of figures before her. "Oh Nolan," she whispered aloud, "How can I have failed you so?" Though she had tried her best to reduce the house's expenses, the Moorsheads were still losing money, and now her sums revealed that their treasury was nearly depleted. She needed to discuss things with Rhys.

She rose with a sigh and gathered up her papers, glancing perfunctorily at the old gilt mirror by her door. Without her septa's wimple the woman looking back seemed younger, more like the gentle mother of three growing children than the removed, devout Septa she wished to become. She noticed that she had on a gown that Nolan had once favored on her, and the crow's-feet around the mirror-woman's green eyes intensified as she blinked back a tear, smiling determinedly. Unlike a husband, the gods can never be taken away from you.

She paced smoothly through the halls to her son's chambers, but the door was locked and her knock went unanswered. Sounds of combat and shouting floated through a nearby window from the arms-yard, and she moved idly to the window. To her surprise she recognized Rhys in his practice gear below, sparring with a partner in the open training field while a ring of men surrounded them and cheered. She recognized Merik's bound arm and broad grin among the crowd and her gaze swiveled back to the combat. Her son was fighting Jonah.

The boy was wielding two weapons instead of a proper shield and he attacked in a flurry of blows, forcing Rhys back a step. The young lord parried each one neatly and launched a practiced thrust at his adversary's torso, but Jonah lashed out with his thin sword and pivoted out of reach, scoring a hit on Rhys' forearm. The spectators shouted as Rhys took a second step back and brought his shield to bear. From then on Rhys fought defensively, allowing his opponent to spend himself extravagantly and win a few more glancing strikes. After a moment the attacks slowed and Rhys exploded instantly from his protective crouch, driving his shield straight into Jonah's weapons and pinning them against the startled boy's chest. Rhys slammed his weight into the shield again and Jonah collapsed onto the ground with the point of the young lord's sword at his throat. No one moved for a moment. 

"I yield!" The boy cried shrilly, and the silence cracked into a cacophony of voices. Jonah rolled around theatrically for a few moments before Rhys reached down with a grin, pulled him upright and clapped him firmly on the back. The next pair of fighters moved in to duel. Lady Alanna frowned as she saw the glint of coins changing hands, but then her frown became a look of horror as she saw her youngest, seven-year-old Brianna, in the yard beside her brother Kellin and watching the proceedings with great interest.

She was still frowning as Rhys came up the stairs and into the hallway, cheeks flushed from exertion. He acknowledged her with his father's grin. "That new squire of Uncle Merik's is _fast_ ," he said ebulliently. "Once he learns some strategy he will be a fine fighter." He unlocked the door and motioned Alanna inside.

Alanna let the door close behind her while she decided on the best way to approach her subject. "That boy is not Ser Merik's squire," she said aloud while she thought, "just some baseborn child he met on the Kingsroad."  
"That's not what Merik thinks," Rhys replied, and the amusement in his voice irritated her.  
"So then it does not bother you that he chose the boy over your brother Kellin?" Lady Alanna snapped. "Ser Merik is the best knight House Moorshead has, and Kellin deserves to learn from the best."  
Rhys closed his eyes and considered her statement for a moment. "Ser Merik is indeed our most experienced knight," he said finally, "and he has seen war. If his selection for an apprentice seemed odd to me, I would still choose to trust his judgment in this matter over my own."  
Alanna bit her lip and brought up a different subject. "And I saw the others betting on your fight. I thought I made it clear to the men that gambling is no longer permitted in Castle Blackhorn."  
Rhys looked less confident now. "I know your wishes, Mother," he answered, "but they were spontaneous wagers and caused no harm, and Father always told me it is best to rule 'with a firm hand and a blind eye.'"  
Alanna softened inwardly at the old aphorism, a favorite of Nolan's, but she was not yet finished. "And why in the name of the Seven was your sister in the arms-yard?"  
Her son shifted his weight uneasily. "Well, Bree got her hands on a wooden dagger this week, so Kellin and she have been play-fighting. I guess she must have followed him out there to watch the knights."  
"Rhys, my son, the training yard is a space for men. It is never a place for a lady. Brianna should be inside learning her lessons."  
Without warning, the young lord turned on her. "What should I do then, Mother?" he asked in exasperation. "I cannot watch her every moment! Maester Rudolphus is teaching her her numbers and letters, but he is not a governess, and we have been unable to afford one for months. She needs her—" he stopped, swallowed hard, and looked ashamed. "Forgive me, Mother."

Lady Alanna absorbed the outburst with a sudden pang of guilt. Even at just fourteen he looked and acted so like her late husband that it was tempting to avoid him, sometimes. When his father passed he had shouldered the duties of Lord without complaint, and now that she had given herself to the church it seemed he had taken on the role of parent as well. She opened her mouth to apologize, but then he rubbed his chin just like Nolan had, just so, and an enormous void of grief opened before her and threatened to sweep her away. "The gods need me." She murmured instead.  
"I know, Mother," his eyes held a look of pity. Lady Alanna stiffened.

"Those matters were not why I have come, my Lord," she said brusquely, wielding his title deliberately to remind them both of their proper roles. She handed her papers to Rhys and studied his features intently as he read, witnessing the flash of alarmed apprehension that bloomed across his face and the quick effort of will he used to quell it. "It seems that we are coming to the End." He said evenly, handing her columns of figures back. "What do you think we should do, Septa?"  
After a moment of hesitation, Alanna broached the issue she had been anticipating all along. "Lord Rhys, my son," She began, "the times are indeed dire. Our pleas for restitution from the Baratheons have gone unanswered, and the northmen— " Despite herself her voice caught in her throat, and she had to take a deep breath before continuing. Poor, bold Jon the Ram had invested so heavily in groundwork, in quality construction for the Castle, capable knights for defense, and well-bred ewes and rams to found their herds; his careful planning and foresight had only just begun to pay off when the Stark army had ridden through and raided the moorlands in the name of Robert's Rebellion. Robbed so casually of the fruits of our labors at the crucial moment; she recalled the helpless fury of that day well, and from then on it had been as though a curse had been laid upon their house— the best of their herds were taken by illness, their crops always seemed to fail. "House Moorshead has been unable to recover since our initial loss, and now we have no reserves left to invest in our improvement. For the moment, our chief wealth lays in our..." she strove to keep her voice neutral. "In my children."  
She studied her son's reaction out of the corner of her eye as he swallowed hard and turned his back to her. He looked out through a window at the moorlands for a moment, and into the quiet fell the steady whisper of the wind through the grasses. Though it was summer the air was brisk in the high valley, and a scattering of snow could be seen on the most distant mountains. Rhys turned back to her. "You're speaking of a marriage alliance," he said slowly. "Whom would I marry?"

Alanna hesitated. "One of the Tullys, ideally. It would improve our social standing and give us the funds we need to rebuild our flocks, and they would undoubtedly aid us in defense as well. Few would dare assail us with the power of Riverrun at our backs." She paused thoughtfully. "I do not know if they would consent, but there are many other viable options in the Riverlands for you, or for your siblings."  
"That's a wonderful idea." Her son wrinkled his brow. "Though it is difficult to think of little Brianna or Kellin being promised to another at such a young age."  
Alanna smiled at this. "It can work better than you think," she said gently. "I knew I was to marry your father from the time I was twelve years old." She let a tear escape this time, and her son embraced her without a word.  
Her mind wandered aimlessly over her memories for a moment before she pulled away. "Is this truly your wish, my son?" She asked gently. "You are the lord of the house, after all."

Rhys took a step back and squared his shoulders firmly. "It is my duty," he replied. "I will not see House Moorshead fail so soon after its inception. If you accompany Ser Merik to King Robert's tournament next month you will surely find a number of families to approach on our behalf. A tournament is the ideal place to attract the right sort of attention to our house, especially if Ser Merik can make a good showing in the jousts. I have confidence that you will find a good match for House Moorshead, and for me." His self-assured tone abruptly vacillated into uncertainty. "Only... if you can, I... would like a girl who is kind. And pretty."  
Lady Alanna suppressed a chuckle and nodded encouragingly at her son instead. "I shall do my best," she replied solemnly. "The contentedness of my children is as important to me as the glory of my house."  
Rhys ducked his head, for a moment just another youth of fourteen contemplating the mysteries of love. "And smart," he added softly.  
A warm glow of pride in her firstborn's commitment to the house grew in Lady Alanna. "I will make the necessary arrangements for our journey," she began, then stopped suddenly. "Are you not planning to accompany us?" She asked, startled.  
Rhys shook his head, and her eyes snapped back to her son and mined his face ruthlessly for clues. She gained no insight. "Unfortunately, I have other things that require my attention as well." Rhys said evasively.

Lady Alanna suppressed her urge to question him further. As a mother and his elder she felt she deserved answers, but as a member of the household her position had become subservient to her son's the second her husband drew his last breath. A woman's duty, she reminded herself. Her son was lord of the keep now and it was her place to defer to him, though something in her seethed resentfully at the thought. "As you wish, my lord." She curtseyed stiffly and left the room, reminding herself that though her use to the Moorsheads may be fading, the gods would always need her.

***

Two weeks passed quickly in preparation. Alanna wrote letters to old acquaintances and made herself knowledgeable about current house alliances, individual feuds and grudges, and general gossip. Before she was ready it was the final evening meal, and she was sitting at the high table with her children.

"Mutton today, mutton yesterday, and mutton tomorrow!" Kellin said cheerfully. Alanna smiled down at the round, gentle face of her ten year old son. As their funds dwindled their choices in foodstuffs had indeed become sparse, their castle staff had been reduced to nearly no one and their once-fine clothes had become patched and worn from long use, but none of her children had complained.  
"Nothing wrong with mutton," Ser Merik agreed around a mouthful of food. A silence descended over the gathering like a pall, and Alanna felt that she should say something heartening. 

"You all are going to have a wonderful time at King's Landing," Rhys said from the head of the table before Alanna could begin. "I have heard that King Robert throws the most lavish tournaments imaginable. It will truly be a sight to behold, and I wish fervently that I were attending it myself."  
"Me too!" Kellin piped up.  
"Me too!" Brianna echoed.  
Alanna opened her mouth to reply, but Rhys beat her to it a second time. "You will go someday, little brother," he promised with a smile, "But first you need to be apprenticed to a knight for a time. I have spoken to Ser Artemis and he is willing, if you are."  
Kellin's cheeks colored and he looked down at his plate, too pleased to speak.  
"What about me?" Brianna asked eagerly.  
Alanna frowned at her daughter thoughtfully, and this time she spoke first. "Ladies cannot be knights," She said sternly. "The gods did not create women to fight with swords." Brianna's face fell.  
"What about Nymeria the Warrior Queen?" Jonah's voice cut in. Alanna concealed a sigh as she turned to the boy, sitting by Ser Merik's side as if he were their equal and shoveling food into his mouth. At least he seems to have learned the use of silverware, she thought contemptuously.  
"I suppose you would know about that," she replied smoothly. "You've got your mantle pinned on the girls' side. And aren't you supposed to be serving your knight instead of eating?"  
Jonah jumped up immediately, knocking his chair to the ground as he fumbled red-faced with his cloak.  
"It's all right, boy," Ser Merik waved a hand dismissively. "Sit and eat for tonight. I can fetch my own damn wine." He surprised Alanna with a brief glare.  
Lord Rhys cleared his throat and spoke assertively. "Don't worry about it, Brianna. You will stay in and learn your lessons with me while Maester Rudolphus is away, and we'll find something really special that only you can do."  
"And I'll play dolls with you, when I'm not squiring." Kellin promised. Brianna beamed, and Alanna's eyes lingered on Merik uneasily as her younger children finished their meal and ran off. The knight's gaze followed Kellin as he left the room and his face was troubled as he turned to take another sip of wine. Their eyes locked.  
Lord Rhys stood up. "Jonah, I usually spend the evenings in the arms-yard while the light lasts. Would you like to practice with me?" He cast a meaningful glance in his mother's direction.  
Jonah's spoon clattered on his plate as he cast an eager look at Merik, who nodded absentmindedly. The two boys departed and Alanna and Merik were left alone at the table.

The knight appeared lost in his thoughts, so Alanna let the silence settle over them like a covering of snow while she sifted through her feelings: indignation, concern, anxiety. She had long felt the beginnings of a wilderness springing up between them and it worried her, but she knew Merik was not a complicated man; she only had to find the right question and his thoughts would open to her like a door. "Do you think Artemis will be a better fit for Kellin?" She asked experimentally.

Merik was looking back at the place where Kellin had left. "Knights of summer," he muttered almost inaudibly. Alanna waited, and after a few moments he surprised her with a question of his own. "Have you heard the story of how my father Jon the Ram won his lordship?"  
"At the Stepstones?" Alanna's knowledge of warfare was not stellar, but she had considered it her duty to learn the history of her adopted house. "Yes. Lord Jon was only a hedge knight then, but during the War of the Ninepenny Kings he joined with the forces from the Riverlands and held back a rout by Golden Company that would have taken the lives of many in King Aegon's army. A concluding victory against the Blackfyre Pretenders and a glorious day, so I've been told."

Merik scratched pensively at his beard. "So I had always heard, and the tales of my father's glory were strong in me as I rode off to my first battle. But when it was over and I looked around at the field, at the dead and the maimed, and realized that I had been lied to. War is never glorious." He sighed heavily, and a brooding silence hung in the air until he went on. "Since that day I have felt that some boys are born to be soldiers, some boys become soldiers, and some boys should never have been soldiers at all." 

Alanna turned his statement over suspiciously for a moment, trying to puzzle it apart. To whom was he referring? Though he did not meet her gaze she sensed that he was pleading with her to understand, and she wanted to show him that she could. "And which of those were you?" She inquired at last.  
Merik drained his cup of wine in one motion and stood up. "I no longer recall." he said wryly. He took a deep breath and smiled down at her gently. "But please forgive me, my lady, for such things are not your concern. I can see that you already carry the weight of the entire house on your shoulders, and that is more important than the musings of a single old knight. I know that Ser Artemis will teach Kellin well."

He left the hall and Alanna stared at his back, her conflicted feelings chasing each other across her face with a potency too powerful to conceal.

***

Early the next morning Alanna woke with tears on her pillow. "Nolan," she breathed miserably. As her dream receded from her she strove to beat back the powerful sorrow it left behind, but it clung to her mercilessly with soft, spidery fingers. "Won't it ever get any easier?" she whispered into the dim light. 

She had dreamed of Nolan as he appeared the last time she saw him in the castle's front courtyard, vibrant and strong and handsome atop his fiery new charger. "We shall return with boar and bear for the table, my fair lady, or die trying," Her husband announced with a dramatic flourish as he bent over her. He grinned at her with that broad, mischievous smile she knew so well and feigned shock when she leaned in to kiss him farewell. Alanna remembered punching him playfully in the thigh. "Begone with you," she teased, and watched him ride off into the hills with Merik and an escort of huntsmen. 

They had not been expected back for a week, but three days later she was playing with her children in the solar when she heard a frenzied commotion in the courtyard. Merik burst into the room. "Where's the Maester?" He shouted at her wildly. 

The sound of heavy feet reverberated throughout the castle walls as men rushed to and fro, and she caught a glimpse of her husband's bright golden head caked with blood and dangling limply from someone's arms. "What happened?" she shrieked. "What happened?" By the time she reached the bedchamber, Maester Rudolphus had already arrived and was coolly cutting away Nolan's armor.

A branch to the head, they told her later, when things were calm. His young charger had spooked and dashed into a thicket at top speed and the bough had hit his temple, sweeping him to the ground headfirst with a sickening crash. Lady Alanna had ordered the horse shot.

The Maester tended to Lord Nolan assiduously while Alanna sat motionless beside the bed, letting the hours flee from her unheeded. She had laughed with relief when her husband finally opened his blue eyes again, but the joy died on her lips as she watched them roam aimlessly around the chamber with pupils dilated and empty. She had not laughed since.

Nolan stayed that way for a fortnight, eyes vacant and limbs shaking, a stream of nonsense words spewing constantly from his lips. "He has suffered severe cranial swelling, my lady," Maester Rudolphus told her one evening as she coaxed more honey and water down her husband's throat. "If he has not recovered by now, then it is a sign that the damage to his mind is too severe for the body to repair. It is best that we let him pass on."  
Alanna felt that she was sinking into a deep, dark pool. "It cannot be," she whispered defiantly, clutching her husband's limp hand as though she could force the warmth and life of her own body into it. "He will prevail."  
The Maester regarded her for a long moment, his flat mien revealing nothing. "As you wish, my lady," he replied, and left to prepare milk of the poppy for his patient's nightly dose. The next morning Nolan was dead.

As the memories flowed over her Alanna wiped the tears angrily from her cheeks, reminding herself that the time to grieve was over. She stepped down onto a worn floor rug and knelt to pray, but she could not yet bring her mind to focus. Gods be good, she had done enough mourning in the weeks following her husband's death. She remembered almost nothing of that time save the walls of her room and standing with her family around her husband's barrow, seeing only in glimpses: the flash of sun on the hills, Rhys' bowed, tousled head, the Moorshead sigil glinting off a knight's freshly painted shield, the pain in Ser Merik's waiting eyes.

Merik. It all came back to him. As the blackness finally withdrew, leaving behind days scored and pitted with dark holes of events she could not recall, she had shored herself up firmly and waited for him to come. She had not lived all these years in the shadow of his feelings to ignore them now, no matter how honorably he tried to keep them hidden. It was almost the proper thing to do, after all; as Nolan's younger brother Merik could have stepped in and been a father to her children and a husband for her, and they could have supported each other through their sadness and moved together towards healing and a new life.

But Merik had not come. Instead he had treated her with the same courteous detachment that he always had, and amidst her sadness the wounded pride of rejection began to fester within her. Perhaps she had misread him, or perhaps he had felt the hand of propriety too heavily on his shoulders to act in time, but she was beginning to suspect that Merik was simply unwilling or unable to fulfill the increased demands that new role would have made upon him. Perhaps he did not think he would ever measure up to his brother Nolan, so he preferred not to try.

Alanna scowled at this. She wanted to call him craven, but in truth, she envied him the choice to follow his feelings and the ability to make mistakes that she and her son did not have. Mistakes like Jonah, she thought darkly. Well, soon she would be on the road with them, and there would be plenty of time to observe for herself whether she had misjudged the wayward boy, as well as ample opportunity to speak with Merik.

A draft of cold air reminded her that she was still kneeling on the floor. It was too late for some things, she thought sadly, then berated herself for the feeling. Merik may not have answered the call, but the gods had— saved her from the darkness— and now she was resolved to serve until the day she could stop fighting and rest securely in their arms with her husband, away from the touch of sorrow. 

"And what of now?" A small voice whispered. "Do you not deserve some happiness in this life as well?" There was no joy left for her here, Alanna replied firmly, no space left for regrets. Her sole responsibility before she retired to the church was to see that her House and her children would survive, no matter the cost to herself. She exhaled slowly and began her lengthy morning prayers, adding a personal request to the Crone for wisdom and forbearance.

It was nearly dawn by the time she was finished, and she had to hurry to dress. As the last thing before she left the room, she stood before the mirror and pinned on her septa's wimple. Surely the Seven had a purpose for taking Nolan and leaving her behind; she could not, must not question their will.

With a harsh nod of approval at her reflection, Septa Alanna shouldered her pack, picked up her husband's heavy crossbow, and strode resolutely down the stairs to the main hall where her companions awaited her. If this was the last great act she could do for the house, than so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tournament they're planning for is the Tourney of Prince Joffrey's 12th Name Day. To place it in the timeline, it's the tourney in King's Landing before the Tourney of the Hand takes place in Game of Thrones.
> 
> Chapter three is coming soon!  
> We're fueled by input. Leave a comment and let us know what you think.


	3. Maester Rudolphus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moorsheads stay at the Crossroads Inn and meet several alarming characters.  
> Adapted from _The Journey to King's Landing_ by Green Ronin.  
>  This chapter also contains spoilers for the 2012 video game _Game of Thrones_.

The Septa was questioning him again, and though Maester Rudolphus' face remained outwardly blank, inwardly he allowed himself a sardonic smile. It had been days since they left Castle Blackhorn and the woman was still trying to probe his thoughts, uncover his mental weaknesses. _Let her try_ , he told himself, unperturbed. As long as he served her house faithfully and well, he was under no obligation to reveal his personal opinions to the Lady Moorshead.

He ran a hand through his graying hair and casually shrugged aside another double-edged query. At first he had resented her request to accompany the group to King's Landing, to leave behind all his experiments and research for a mere tournament of arms; however, the change of scenery had reawakened his interest in the world beyond the remote lands of House Moorshead and now he found himself looking forward to the knowledge such an experience may have to offer. Tutoring children and conducting his private studies had been enough to keep him minimally occupied back at the castle, but now he wished to observe the city and perhaps interact with other scholars at its Maester's Conclave. He looked forward to partaking in some intelligent conversation for a change. 

"Are you listening to me?" Alanna's voice sounded irritated and he turned and studied her coolly. In the diffuse light of the clouded noon her face looked plain and severe, bound determinedly in the cloth headdress of a Septa, and her green eyes appeared abnormally pale.  
"Of course, milady," he replied flatly, keeping his own features still. It was an old trick he had learned, long ago; the less you reveal to others in word and deed, the more you retain the advantage should it be required later. "You stated that you were worried about bandits on the road, like the ones that attacked the knight."  
Successfully placated, the Septa's expression resolved itself into one of uncomplicated anxiety. "Will you pray with me for a safe passage to King's Landing?" she asked earnestly.  
The Maester gave her a sidelong glance. "No," he responded simply. This newfound piety of hers grated on him. It was baffling that she would turn to the gods after her husband died, as though the Seven, presupposing that they existed and cared about the affairs of mortals, were not the ones responsible for taking Nolan away at the start. He did not elaborate further and the lady, with a reproachful frown, bent over the neck of her palfrey and began whispering a prayer on her own.

The sound of high-pitched giggling broke into his thoughts, and he looked up at Merik and his squire, who rode together on the Kingsroad about twenty feet ahead. The Septa stiffened and urged her mount forward, and Maester Rudolphus suppressed a smirk as he clicked his tongue to his mule and followed behind. The woman's petty dislike of Merik's baseborn boy had been the most entertaining part of the journey thus far; though she always retained the upper hand, the little squire had proven unexpectedly quick-witted and had so far resisted her attempts to cow him. As the two of them neared, a fragment of the conversation reached their ears.

"You didn't _really_ ," The squire was gasping, his tone filled with shocked delight.  
"We did!" The knight insisted, hoarse from laughter himself. "That poor old whore never knew what hit her. And ever since then I've held to the belief that _everything_ a young man needs to know can be found in the arms-yard, the stables, or the whorehouse." Merik grinned and looked the boy over for a moment before adding, "And have _you_ been with a woman yet, boy?"  
Fighters, Rudolphus thought disgustedly, always thinking with their weapons or their cocks. The youth began to stutter and Alanna, who had been listening to the desultory banter without comment, cleared her throat sternly. Merik jumped in his saddle. "My pardon, Lady--- I mean, Septa Alanna," he turned and bowed to her hastily. "What can we do for you?"

Alanna's demeanor did not soften. "Maester Rudolphus wishes to speak to you," she told his boy coldly, but he simply returned her icy stare until Merik echoed her command. The squire slowed his pony reluctantly.  
"What is it?" he asked. His dark eyes were keen and curious.  
 _Well played, Septa_ , Rudolphus thought with a grudging appreciation. "Answer me this riddle, boy," he said aloud. "A king, a priest, and a rich man all bid a common sellsword to slay the other two. ‘Do it’ says the king, ‘for I am your lawful ruler.’ ‘Do it’ says the priest, ‘for I command you in the name of the gods.’ ‘Do it’ says the rich man, ‘and all this gold shall be yours.’ Which two die?"

The boy dutifully puckered his brow. "Whichever two the sellsword wishes to die," he said with a shrug.  
Rudolphus nodded slightly. It was as he guessed; Merik's squire was not wholly stupid. "Combat is for angry, thick-headed men with death wishes, boy." The Maester told him. "Have you ever thought of becoming a scholar?"  
The youth looked at him in undisguised horror. "I'm going to be a knight," he declared adamantly, and Rudolphus observed a hint of a warrior's stubborn dullness weave its way across his childish features. "And my name is Jonah, not _boy_ ," he added, shaking the reins of his pony to quicken its pace.  
Maester Rudolphus let him ride ahead and bother the others. _Such a waste._ He had much to teach, and it was a misfortune indeed that there was such a dearth of people around him to listen.

***

Later that day his message-ravens grew restless in their travel cage. Rudolphus glanced at them curiously, and when he looked ahead again he saw a flock of crows swarming over the road. The birds flew off squawking as they approached, and at length the healer spotted the corpses of two men and a boy beside the road.

"Seven hells," Merik cursed darkly under his breath. Jonah stared at the dead men with wide eyes, and the Septa sat as still as if she had turned to stone.  
Maester Rudolphus nudged his mule closer to study the bodies, appraising the level of decay. "The two men were knights," he stated, his inflectionless voice sliding roughly into the silence. "See the rust stains on their clothes? Their armor was stripped from them after they died. They have not been dead for more than a day." He waited for a response but none came. "Shall I examine the bodies?"

Alanna's shoulders shivered perceptibly as though she had just returned from an unpleasant memory. "Ride on," she whispered. "We can do nothing for them at this moment." Maester Rudolphus accepted this order favorably. He had been afraid that she would suggest something sentimental, like a prayer or a burial, that would needlessly squander their travel time on people dead and gone. He shook his head. He did not understand why men were so eager to die for matters that could just as easily be settled with speech.

They rode on. The easy jocularity of the knight was gone now, replaced by the tense, hardened alertness of a seasoned soldier, and by his command the squire moved a few paces ahead to scout. Rudolphus kept his mule close behind the knight's warhorse and remained silent, allowing the fighters to fulfill their function--- protecting the party's more vital members--- unhindered. The Septa, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about disrupting their concentration.

"Are you worried?" She asked Merik in a low tone. The knight turned to her and hesitated, as though deciding how much to reveal.  
"Yes," he replied gently, after a pause. "I wish we could have spared more men to escort you, my lady, but every knight we remove weakens the house, and our lands are getting raided enough as it is." He saw the look on her face and smiled quickly, too quickly. "But don't worry, that only means we are small enough to pass swiftly through the dangers. Jonah and I will protect you, Septa."  
Alanna appeared reassured by the knight's words. "I am not helpless myself," she told him with a shy smile, patting the big crossbow by her side. Merik's mouth twitched in amusement or concern as he gave her a solemn nod. Rudolphus' eyes narrowed, but he kept his comments to himself. He did not think a single knight could keep both him and the woman safe, and he knew whom the chivalrous Merik would protect if put to the choice. That left his squire, and the untested boy's scrawny arms did not inspire the Maester's confidence. He privately resolved to find a way to fend for himself if the need arose; there were more effective tools to with which to solve problems than clumsy steel, and he intended to survive.

***

Dusk fell, but the party merely hurried onward with increased urgency. Their mounts were stumbling with weariness by the time the lingering trees finally gave way to patches of farmland and a large two-storied building appeared on the horizon. "The Inn at the Crossroads," Alanna announced to no one in particular, with evident relief. No doubt the first of many taverns to come, thought the Maester with a trace of impatience.

The interior of the tavern was cluttered, but warm, and Maester Rudolphus listened with a private snicker as Alanna used her status as a churchwoman to bargain down the price of three rooms. Smallfolk superstitious enough to fall for it deserve no better, he thought scornfully, and the Septa, despite her professed piety, appeared to be practical about such matters when it came to preserving the limited funds of their house. The cost agreed upon, the innkeeper--- a fat woman answering to the unfortunate name of Masha--- appeared eager to please them.

"Would you like a cupcake, sweetling?" she cooed to the squire, who lurked uncertainly behind Merik's shoulder. Her teeth were stained from the disagreeable habit of chewing sourleaf. Though her tone appeared to embarrass him, the boy accepted the treat and squirreled it away into his pack. Still smiling her red smile, Masha led the party over to a corner table and had a fair-haired girl fetch them a round of drinks. Maester Rudolphus took a cup of hot wine and sat down, watching the Moorsheads interact with the other patrons. The Septa brewed tea for a sniffling man sitting by the stone fireplace, while Merik approached a strange couple sitting nearby, his squire trailing after him like a shadow. The scholar listened idly as their conversation rose above the din.

A hooded young woman spoke first. "Forgive my stare, Ser, but I had a dream about you," she said softly, and the Maester caught a flash of purple as she looked up into Merik's eyes. "A unicorn met you on the road and offered to carry your burden for you, but instead of accepting his offer you stabbed him." The knight's blunt features revealed a vague unease at her words, but he bowed to her courteously before turning to her companion. He appeared much older, with a face that was scarred from many battles, and he held his cloak of dark brown fur pulled close about him as he gazed down at an untouched plate of bloody meat. 

"Well met, friend," Merik said, but the older man did not respond.  
"He does not always hear us," the woman replied apologetically, "His life has been... difficult." Jonah bent down to stroke a scarred bull terrier that rested at the man's feet.  
Merik paused uncertainly, and the Maester was amused by the simple knight's discomfiture. "Well, if there is nothing that you require, my lady, I shall take my leave," he said at length, and bowed once more as the young woman shook her head with a small smile. Jonah gave the dog a final pat before he stood, then put his head to one side and regarded the girl curiously. "There aren't any unicorns in Westeros," he told her firmly. "They're extinct."

As his companions returned, Rudolphus settled his back ruminatively against the wall and sorted through what he'd heard piece by piece. The violet-eyed woman spoke of her dreams as though they were prophecy, perhaps believing she possessed what the First Men called greensight or even dragon dreams like the Targaryens of old. He sighed and touched the Valyrian steel link of his Maester's chain. It represented his knowledge of mystical phenomena; to earn it, he had made intensive study of the so-called supernatural magic of Westerosi history along with more contemporary accounts of mysticism, and his research had found little empirical evidence for oracles and portents--- not that it mattered to the uneducated smallfolk. The thought of all the ignorance in the world made him weary.

A belch from the other side of the table distracted him. Across from him Jonah grasped a half-full flagon of ale with both hands, distaste clearly written across his features. "Drink it, boy," Merik was commanding with mock sternness. "A man needs to learn how to hold his liquor." His squire drained it determinedly and set the empty mug beside two others as Merik clapped him on the back approvingly. "Now recite heraldry," he continued. "What is the sigil of House Blackwood?"  
"A flock of ravens around a dead weirwood, on red," the boy replied immediately.  
"Good. House Bracken?"  
The Maester raised an eyebrow as Jonah began to run down the list of Riverlands houses without a mistake. It was an unusual depth of knowledge for a baseborn adolescent, but perhaps Merik had taught him. As time went on the youth began to lean against Merik's shoulder and his words took on a slight slur.  
"House Piper?" Merik persisted.  
"On blue, a..." the squire was suddenly overcome by a fit of mirth. "A pink maiden, _naked_!" he finally choked out, and put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.  
Septa Alanna had been sitting across from the pair and ignoring the exchange, but at this last she turned to the knight, who by this time was openly amused. " _Really_ , Merik," she snapped, regarding the boy with a contemptuous flare of her nostrils.

The knight 's grin remained as the Septa glared, but finally he gave Jonah a firm shake and pushed him upright again. "Steady," he ordered, and fetched a cup of water. For once the Maester agreed with Alanna. He'd witnessed such rites of passage among fighters too many times; the blunting of the mind with too much drink, the excessive competition, the casual brutality--- all imprecisely designed to inure the recruit to the horror of violence and death that was their lot to experience, and in time the thoughts of the newly minted soldier became as dim and shallow as the next. It nauseated him to witness it.

"Wildlings!" A sudden hoarse shout scattered his thoughts. The man in dark brown furs lurched upright, carelessly knocking his table to floor as he drew an enormous greatsword from the scabbard on his back. He swung the weapon wildly at empty air as the inn's patrons fled in all directions. On the ground his companion clutched at her abdomen protectively and her hood dropped to reveal silver hair. Rudolphus' eyebrows shot up before he could prevent them. _A woman with Targaryen blood, alive?_

Merik was ready for battle in an instant. "Protect the others!" He barked to his squire as he charged forward. From the corner of his eye Rudolphus saw Alanna duck behind the bar and ready her husband's crossbow, but her expression was uncertain and she did not fire. The Maester looked around urgently, realizing with an irritated scowl that the fighting men were between him and the exits. The last thing he had expected here was a fight, or he would have been more prepared.

Before him Merik's boy flipped their table sideways and knelt behind it. "Take cover!" the squire shrieked, and somewhat stiffly Rudolphus crouched down beside him. Jonah loaded a light crossbow and took aim as Merik reached the berserking man and parried a mighty blow.  
"They say crossbows are weapons fit only for women and cravens." An oily voice scoffed from the direction of the fireplace, and the Maester saw Alanna's sniffling man leaning unconcernedly against the mantel with his sword sheathed, watching the combat with mild interest. "Are you craven, boy?" He called with a casual sneer. Jonah flushed angrily.

Across the room Merik brought his shield to bear. "Stop this madness!" he cried as he deflected another attack, and suddenly the bull terrier that had lain by the man's feet leaped forward and tackled him, sending his weapon spinning off into a corner. The dog crouched fixedly atop his master's chest, and the sound of man's labored breathing filled the hushed room.

After a respectable pause, Alanna emerged from behind the bar and assumed control of the situation. "Well," she exclaimed briskly, her voice bright for the benefit of the onlookers, " _that_ was exciting, wasn't it?" The anxiety in the room ebbed and many voices started to speak at once.  
"Well done!" came a gravelly shout from an old man, deep in his cups. He drained his flagon, raised it over his head, and cheered. The silver-haired woman pulled up her hood and crept discreetly to her companion's side; something about her movements caught the Maester's eye, and he abruptly inferred that she was with child. _Very curious, indeed._

The Septa approached the pair as Merik purposefully sheathed his sword. "Will you accompany me to my room?" She murmured. "I would like to say a prayer with you." The girl nodded hesitantly, and Merik reached down and pulled the grizzled fighter upright. "Apologies," the man was muttering indistinctly, "I just--- I thought I saw---" The young woman put her arm around the confused man and ushered him up the stairs.  
Alanna lingered beside Merik for a moment. "Now you have seen for yourself that the little urchin is a fool and not a fighter." Rudolphus heard her whisper smoothly to the knight, no doubt a continuation of some earlier talk between them. "No squire should hide behind a table while his knight is in battle."  
The scholar watched irritation rise up and simmer in the old knight's face. "He obeyed my orders, my lady. If I had thought there would be a skirmish here, I would not have made him drink. I erred," Merik replied curtly, and strode away up the stairs. Rudolphus thought he saw Alanna smile to herself as she ascended. He glanced back at Jonah, who had braced his feet against the floorboards to pry the abandoned greatsword out of the wall. It came loose suddenly and he landed flat on his back. Rudolphus snapped his fingers to get the boy's attention and followed the others to their rooms. 

Merik was already on guard outside the Septa's door, and as the Maester approached Jonah squeezed around him and rejoined the knight. "I'm _not_ craven," the boy declared hotly without preamble. "The man by the fire said I was, but I'm not. I did what you said!"  
"You are not craven, but you are a fool." The knight admonished him crossly. "You must not continue to provoke the Lady Alanna." Rudolphus passed calmly between them as they spoke and opened Alanna's door without knocking. As a Maester, the right was his. 

Inside the rented room the Septa had seated herself across from the pair, who were sitting close beside one another on the bed. "You seem as though you are in some sort of trouble," Septa Alanna was saying in a voice laden with concern. "How may a Septa of the Seven Gods be of service to you?"  
The pair exchanged glances. "My name is Jeyne Sand, the natural-born daughter of Aerys II and Ashara Dayne, and this is Mors Westford of the Night's Watch," the silver-haired woman began nervously. "Jeyne!" the grizzled man growled through gritted teeth at her, but she continued. "There are many people searching for me who... wish my death, and so we have taken to the road together to escape."  
The Septa gasped. "And why on earth would people be after a girl like you?" She asked. Her face was a mask of horror and sympathy and Rudolphus smiled inwardly, knowing it was a deliberate choice. Alanna was truly coming into her own after Nolan's death.  
The woman Jeyne leaned forward awkwardly. "I carry King Robert's baby," She whispered breathlessly. "My companion Mors has sworn to protect the child, and so we flee west---" Mors grabbed her arm and shook his head warningly, but the girl frowned back at him. "I trust them, Mors," she said decisively, and turned back to Alanna and Rudolphus with an appealing smile. "We flee to the Westerlands, where Mors has family that will aid us."  
 _Foolish girl_ , the Maester thought at once. That knowledge could be very dangerous in the wrong hands, and she gave it away freely. He kept his features still and said nothing.  
Alanna considered the girl's words for a moment. "You have nothing to fear from us," she responded at length, her tone reassuring. "As far as I'm concerned, we are both travelers that came up here to pray together. If ever pressed, I'll say that you mentioned you were journeying--- East, wasn't it?" The girl beamed shyly, and even the craggy features of her companion softened a little. Alanna regarded them both with a beatific smile. "Now then, lest we tell a falsehood, let us all ask the Seven for their blessing on our respective journeys." She bowed her head and extended her arms, and the Maester stifled a burst of anger as he reluctantly took her hand. She had trapped him, the clever bitch. She began her prayer and Rudolphus concentrated instead on the voices of the knight and his squire, whose words he could just hear from the other side of the door. 

"I will win Lady Alanna over with courtly graces," Jonah was declaring buoyantly.  
The knight gave short, harsh laugh. "Just be deferential," he retorted.  
"I'll be deferential," the boy repeated. The Septa's droning filled the silence until he spoke again. "Ser Merik," he asked thoughtfully, "what if a knight's lord told him to do something foolish?"  
"It is not the task of a knight to question his betters," Merik replied stoutly.  
"But what if the person giving the commands is not good?" His squire persevered. "What if he tells you to do something _bad_?"  
Merik did not respond right away, and Rudolphus could imagine the knight's dull features straining in unaccustomed thought. "Well, then I suppose the knight has a choice," he said slowly, "but it is never a choice to be made lightly, and he must be prepared to accept all the consequences that come with it."

Later that evening Maester Rudolphus sat alone in his rented room, squinting into a murky traveling mirror as he shaved the hair from his chin and fleshless cheeks. Too many days of growth and his father would appear in the mirror instead, dredging up memories he preferred to avoid. Few living now knew that he had once been Rudolphus Rivers, merely another of the thousands of children in Westeros born into circumstances beyond their control. He had been fortunate indeed that his noble father had chosen to foster him, and even to send his young bastard son to the Maester's Citadel when the time came. Rudolphus smiled. He had known even then that the true might of Westeros lay in information rather than strength at arms, and that a piece of that knowledge could be worth more than the lives of many men, even those of his own family.

_Too close again._ He studied his reflection. His chin-length hair had only recently begun to turn a dull gray, the color of his eyes. In truth he was only a few years older than Merik and Alanna, but still they treated him as though he were ancient and venerable, removed enough from the events of the day to be able to give unbiased advice. It was not that he did not try, but they were still fools to assume his counsel was not colored by his experiences like those of other men.

He lay down on his bed and sighed. It would be inconvenient indeed for him to have to start over again with another noble house if this one fell. Alanna had so far held House Moorshead together by sheer determination while her son Rhys fumbled with the duties of Lord, but he did not like that the fate of so much rested on the unreliable shoulders of a woman. He had not forgotten Alanna's steadfast refusal to let her husband's spent body die, even in the face of all reason, nor her subsequent decision to chose blind faith in the Seven over fact. _Women_ , Rudolphus thought scornfully, _all iron wills and weak hearts._ Her love had made her weak then and threatened to undo her still; he could not understand why she did not see how much stronger she had become on her own. Still, without her he gave House Moorshead a few years at most before it collapsed. He closed his eyes wearily, wondering what he could or should do to stop something that seemed so inevitable.

***

The next morning Maester Rudolphus sipped mint tea in the common room and thumbed leisurely through a book he'd carried with him all the long leagues from Castle Blackhorn, an abridged history of the noble houses of Westeros. It was his habit to arise early and collect his thoughts before the events of the day began, and the prior evening still piqued his interest. He was studying the pages on House Targaryen when Jonah and Alanna appeared at his table. "Morning, Maester," the youth said cheerfully, and Rudolphus concealed his irritation behind a terse nod. Jonah pulled a seat out for Alanna with an air of solicitude. Clearly he was trying to follow Ser Merik's directive to treat the Septa well, and Rudolphus decided that the spectacle was worth the disruption to his studies.

"What would you like to eat, milady?" Jonah asked the woman solicitously, with a hungry glance towards the kitchens.  
"Oh, whatever you think best," the Septa responded archly. The boy scampered off and returned carrying two plates piled high with food. He set one before Alanna and was about to dive into the other when Alanna cleared her throat warningly. "The nobles of a house always eat before their soldiers and servants," she told him smoothly, and behind her words lay a command as hard as steel. It was a cruel response to the youth's sincere efforts, but Rudolphus had to admire her tenacity.

Caught off guard, Jonah fumbled for a polite response. "But my--- milady," he began awkwardly, "surely I..." Alanna fixed him with a neutral stare, and the boy's protest trailed off into silence. He clenched his teeth and stood sullenly beside his chair as she picked delicately at her meal. As the minutes passed and the tempting aroma of bread and sausage filled the air, Jonah's hands curled into fists.

"What are you _doing_ , boy?" Merik's voice was amused and he gave his squire a good-natured push. "This is an _inn_. Sit and eat." Jonah's face reddened and he glowered at Septa Alanna, but she merely smiled faintly and did not raise her head from her plate. 

The room was sparsely populated at this time of the morning. Rudolphus did not see Jeyne, Mors, or the dark-haired sniffling man, but he did notice the greybeard who'd clapped after the fight, pale and haggard from his indulgences the night before. He smiled gratefully when the fair-haired serving girl brought him a goblet of mead. The girl watched him drink. "I'm _so_ sorry," she whispered as he set down the cup, then she ran out the door. The old man opened his mouth as if to answer, then raised his hand to his neck and made a harsh choking sound. His face reddened as he fought for air.

"Maester!" Alanna gasped in his ear. Rudolphus rose calmly and moved to assist the man, but he had a feeling he knew what had transpired all too well. The girl had apologized in the manner of the Sorrowful Men. He pushed the flailing man face down on the floor and hit his back with both fists, allowing for the unlikely chance he simply had something lodged in his throat. The man coughed once more and went limp. _Dead._ Rudolphus wondered what sort of enemies the old man had had, that someone would bother to hire an assassin's guild to poison him.

The innkeeper Masha rushed up. "What happened to Horace?" she shrieked.  
The Maester put his fingers on the man's windpipe, and the tense swelling beneath the skin confirmed his suspicions. "He was slain by a poison called the Strangler that was dissolved in his drink," he answered flatly. The fat woman screamed and covered her mouth. "How? How did this happen?"  
Alanna stepped forward. "How long have you known that serving-girl?" she asked the trembling woman gently, placing a soothing hand on her arm.  
"Oh, since she was a child," Masha sputtered, confused. "When her parents passed on I hired her to work here at the inn, but that was years ago and I... I never..." she looked down fearfully at the dead man and allowed Alanna to guide her away. 

Jonah appeared by Rudolphus' side. "I watched her through the window." he announced. "The girl ran across the road and into the trees." He studied the dead man curiously. "Are we going to follow her?"  
Ser Merik shook his head. "It's not our affair."  
The Maester went through the dead man's pockets methodically. He pulled a tube of parchment from the man's leather boot. It was a letter written in Ancient Valyrian, and the Maester squinted down at the foreign words in concentration. "To the holder of---" he began laboriously, and the ink suddenly started to fade away. In a few moments the paper he was holding was blank, and he could do no more than stare at it in disbelief. For the first time in a long while, he had witnessed something he had never seen before.

***

The events of the morning cast a palpable pall over their journey. The party said little and kept close together beneath the gray skies, and even the Maester's ravens, who often loudly expressed their displeasure with the uncomfortable, jostling journey, sat quiet and subdued in their traveling box. Rudolphus consoled himself with the thought that the roads would become safer as they neared King's Landing. He looked impatiently towards the horizon, and an errant flash in the near distance--- the gleam of light on dirty metal---caught his attention. Before he could say anything Jonah had signaled and pointed.

A few hundred yards ahead a warrior in dirty half-plate emerged from the trees beside a familiar-looking man in dark leather, and the Maester recognized him immediately as Alanna's sniffling man from the inn. Ser Merik and his spotted drestrier cut to the front. "Be ready to flee on my signal if this goes ill," he hissed, and Alanna tensed, awkwardly hefting the heavy shield that she kept with her saddlebags. 

In a moment the two men had closed the gap. "It's just as I told you, Ser Anders," the man said loudly to the metal-clad warrior beside him, sounding pleased. "No more challenge than a single knight with a craven little boy, guarding a healer and a woman. This should be over quickly."  
"I'm _not_ craven!" Jonah shouted furiously, and his voice echoed off the trees.  
"Corvin!" Alanna said sharply. "I dearly hope you are not threatening us. We will gladly give you whatever aid you require." _Not I_ , thought the Maester darkly. He had no use for men who used strength and ignorance to make their own law.  
Corvin grinned. "May the Seven forgive me for such sins, Septa," he sneered back. "If only they had seen fit to make me a nobleman with gold and goods enough, I would not need to take them from you now."  
"And armor enough as well," the robber knight spoke up. "Your plate looks so encumbering, Ser Knight. I would be happy to relieve you of such a burden." His voice sounded muffled through the narrow slits of his helm.  
"Enough!" Merik growled. He held out his right hand and Jonah set the handle of a long lance on it. "Do not engage us, worthless sons of whores, or I shall relieve _you_ of the burden of your dishonorable lives."  
In response Corvin waved a hand lazily and two arrows whizzed through the air before him. "You're outnumbered, Ser." The bandit replied calmly as his companion Anders lowered his own lance and charged. On his heavy shield the coat of arms, a unicorn, was just visible through layers of caked dirt and flaked paint. 

Everything seemed to happen at once. "Run!" Merik boomed, and Alanna galloped back the way they had come, ducking behind her shield as a second pair of arrows bounced harmlessly off the wood. "The archers!" the knight barked at Jonah, and the boy leapt from his horse into the trees that fringed the road. Merik leveled his weapon in time to meet his adversary's charge and they unhorsed each other with a loud clash of metal and splintering wood. Anders struck the ground headfirst, and as his neck bent to an impossible angle the Maester imagined he heard the snapping of bones.

Merik pushed himself upright and drew his sword in time to parry a blow from Corvin. Two more leather-clad fighters appeared in the road. ""Wart! Cole!" Corvin called out, with an urgent shake of his head in the Maester's direction, "make a corpse of that man. A healer always has medicine that we can use or sell." Rudolphus stifled a curse and spurred his mule to follow Alanna, but the rough men moved swiftly to block his retreat, and as they approached he suddenly grew angry--- the fighters of House Moorshead had indeed failed to protect him, and he refused to be slain, not here, not now. 

"Ignorant fools," he growled menacingly, holding up a wooden walking-staff. "Do you not recognize who I am? Engage me at your peril, for I am the Son of Bloodraven himself!" The history he had reviewed this morning was still fresh in his mind and he laughed to himself as the peasant bandits froze at the name of the legendary Targaryen sorcerer. He twisted his face into a mask of evil malice, and without hesitation the men turned away and attacked Merik instead.  
Now the knight was surrounded and his foes attacked him in a cascade of blows. Merik grunted as one of them landed a blow on his heavy gauntlet, but he whirled around and buried his bastard sword deep into the bandit's skull. The body dropped in an explosion of gore and his enemies recoiled.  
"Anders, get up, you fool!" Corvin shouted in frustration. A scream issued from the woods and Jonah emerged from the trees with bloodied weapons, darting tenaciously across the road towards the second archer. A bolt thrummed through the melee, and Rudolphus saw Alanna a safe distance away down the road methodically reloading her crossbow. The second fighter suddenly turned and ran, and Corvin, after a last disbelieving look at the fallen man in armor, followed him. A sudden quiet fell over the scene. 

Jonah reappeared beside his knight, who was breathing heavily. "The other archer ran before I reached him, but I got the first one," he reported excitedly.  
"Is he dead?" Alanna approached apprehensively, leading her palfrey.  
Jonah frowned. "Just unconscious. For now." He added.  
Alanna cast him a dismissive glance. "I was speaking of the dishonorable knight," she said.  
Merik removed his helm and looked down at his foe, and Rudolphus grew impatient. "Of course he is!" He retorted. Why were they wasting time instead of moving to safety? "He landed on his head and his neck snapped. A rare but entirely possible occurrence, as you well know, milady." He noted with satisfaction the way Alanna expression stiffened against her memories. She may not have found his weaknesses, but he knew hers. "We should ride on now, in case they return."

Alanna gave a heavy sigh. "Perhaps we should not run yet," she responded. "It would displease the Seven if we allowed other travelers to fall prey to an ambush. And what if they were to follow us, as those other brigands did to Ser Merik?" She turned to the knight apprehensively, who appeared to be weighing the possibilities.  
"We could take a look, my lady," He said at length. "They surely have a camp nearby, and we know the direction that they have fled. If the three of them are the only ones left, I can finish them easily." 

The Maester shook his head. The risk seemed decidedly unnecessary, but he said nothing more as his companions tied up the unconscious archer and led their horses into the woods. Rudolphus noted that the knight was limping slightly, so he moved to examine him once they were off the road.  
"I think I twisted it when I fell from my horse," Merik commented ruefully as he removed his boot. The injury not serious, but the spreading, angry bruise beneath his gauntlet could be if not treated. The Maester turned to fetch his medicine bag and tripped over Merik's boy, who was hovering nearby.  
"Move it, squire," Rudolphus snapped, but the boy ignored him.  
"Are you going to be all right, Ser Merik?" he asked anxiously.  
The knight looked up in surprise. "This is nothing, boy," he said severely. "Let the Maester work and tie up the horses." 

Rudolphus tended to Merik's injuries, accepting the knight's simple smile of gratitude with a measure of private scorn. The value of a healer with his particular skill set was high, but to fighters like Merik all maesters were interchangeable. As he finished wrapping a bandage the rumor of distant voices in the trees reached him, and he stood upright and listened suspiciously.  
The others had heard it too. "I'll scout ahead," Jonah whispered keenly, poised on his toes at the edge of the clearing.  
"Someone has to stay here and guard the prisoner," Rudolphus pointed out with a shrug. "Why not you?"  
Jonah stared at him. "But I can move quietly and I can fight, too," he protested loudly.  
The knight sighed. "I will go alone," he said. "Our resources must stay protected. Lady Alanna and Maester Rudolphus will wait here, and you will guard them, Jonah."  
Alanna pulled the crossbow off her palfrey and slung it awkwardly over her shoulder. "I will do no such thing," she responded firmly. "I will accompany you and provide cover fire while you engage them."  
Merik regarded her with a measure of uncertainty. "Battle is no place for a woman," he told her gently.  
"I understand, Merik," she replied, "but I believe I am needed." He nodded reluctantly and as they began to march off the Maester moved with them unasked. All things considered, he thought his chances of survival were far better with the knight.  
"But---" the boy faltered behind them. Merik whipped around. "Stay with the prisoner." he ordered harshly.  
The boy tensed in frustration. "Yes, Ser Merik," he grumbled, and flopped down onto the grass.

They approached the camp as stealthily as they could manage. The clinking of Merik's armor and the footfalls of his horse were apparent even to the Maester, but the rustling of the trees in the wind seemed loud enough to conceal them. Soon the flicker of fire could be seen ahead, and Rudolphus counted five figures huddled around it or moving between a few rough tents: Corvin, the archer, and three others. He looked over at Ser Merik and saw him gesturing rapidly with Alanna. She nodded at him and raised her crossbow, and with a metallic ring the knight drew his bastard sword and charged. 

The men jumped up with startled cries as Merik, astride his mighty drestrier, galloped through the clearing towards the fire. A crossbow bolt from Alanna hit the archer in the shoulder before he could reach for his longbow, and he screamed. The fighters grabbed for their weapons, but Merik reached them first and severed the head from one with a weighty sweep of his weapon. Corvin retreated between the tents and aimed a dagger at the flank of Merik's horse, and the old mare reared up wildly, tossing the knight to the ground. The remaining fighters swarmed him before he could rise, and their weapons bit into their target with the heavy ring of metal on metal. Alanna gasped and fired another bolt wildly into the fray, but it skimmed harmlessly over them and into the trees.

Rudolphus felt a surge of sudden helplessness, and it galled him. It would be just like Merik to get himself killed unnecessarily, when the party needed the foolish knight to ward off attacks at least until they reached King's Landing. Rudolphus strode forward into the clearing with his staff held high.  
"Get away from him," he commanded menacingly, hoping his deception would work a second time. "The Son of Bloodraven commands it!"  
Everyone turned towards him, and Merik seized the opportunity and stabbed upwards through his nearest foe. Blood surged over the metal as the man gave a final, panicked gasp and slid down the blade. Merik pushed himself upright and freed his sword from the man's ribcage with a sharp kick. His blood-soaked grimace appeared ghoulish in the light of the fire as he turned his attention to the remaining swordsman, who retreated hastily. 

The Maester next focused his attention on the archer, who had managed to draw his bow despite his wounded shoulder. "You have threatened me for the last time," he said, deliberately positioning himself so that the flames would illuminate his features from underneath. The fighter dropped his weapon and cowered. "Please, Son of Bloodraven! Spare me!" A quick look around reassured the Maester that the battle was well in hand, so he decided to toy with the stupid man. "I may," Rudolphus stated flatly, "if you castrate yourself."  
"I... what?" the man's eyes widened in fear.  
"You heard me," Rudolphus intoned ominously. "Cut yourself, and you may live." He took a slow step towards him, trapping the bandit between himself and the fire.  
The man began to panic, but then a third crossbow bolt from Alanna pierced his neck and he fell over, coughing for air. The Maester felt disappointed. He had wanted to see if the fool would really do it.

Alanna emerged from the trees, and the Maester noticed she kept her eyes carefully averted from the corpses and from Merik himself, who was covered with the grisly remains of his foes. It amazed Rudolphus that any woman who had experienced childbirth would be squeamish at the sight of blood.  
Merik approached her eagerly. "Well done, my lady!" he exclaimed. "You have some skill with the crossbow."  
Alanna did not look up. "Nicolas Rivers back at the castle taught me," she murmured distantly, and it took the slow knight a few minutes to realize what was amiss.  
"Apologies, my lady," he said, trying to scrape the clotting blood from his face.  
Alanna smiled a little. "Do not ask for forgiveness," she replied, sounding almost amused. "The Seven thank you for your service keeping the roads safe."  
Merik's grin faded, and he turned to the Maester. "Thank you for your assistance as well," he added seriously, looking at the gasping man who still lay the scholar's feet. "What were you doing?"  
The Maester could feel Alanna's curious eyes upon him, trying again to read him, to scour his actions for clues to his thoughts. "Corvin escaped," he said quickly.  
Alanna gasped and Merik's attention immediately snapped to the soft earth for tracks. "He has ridden straight back towards our camp," he announced grimly. "Let's hurry."

Merik took great bounding steps beneath the trees, barely holding his speed in check enough for his companions to keep up. Panting and irritable, the Maester rejoined them at the edge of the clearing. Before them Corvin lay wounded and unconscious on the ground with his arms and legs bound together, and Jonah crouched a short distance away, wiping his weapons clean on a patch of brush. Rudolphus saw a brief smile flit across the old knight's face as he entered the clearing.  
"Very good, Jonah," Merik said shortly. "How did you bring him down?"

The squire stood. "Well, I..." his voice trailed off for a moment. "I hid and used the prisoner as bait, and when he went to rescue him I attacked him in the back," he announced defiantly, planting his feet and raising his chin. "I wanted to bring him down in a single blow, and I did." He looked ready to argue about it, but Merik simply nodded. 

"You are still learning, so it was smart not to risk an open fight," he told his squire. "Whatever skill or advantage you have at your disposal, use it." Rudolphus approved of this, thought he had not expected to hear such a statement from a knight like Merik.

Jonah absorbed his words thoughtfully. "But _you_ did not do that, Ser Merik," he pointed out bluntly. "You had my skills at stealth available, but you did not use them to scout the bandits. You increased our danger by choosing not to know what lay ahead!"  
The knight's mouth opened a little, and Alanna gave a aggravated sigh. "Merik, he should not be allowed to speak so with such insolence," she said harshly. "Who taught you your manners, boy? Did your parents not pay attention to what you were saying?"  
Jonah made an ugly face at her and looked around them. "No one is carrying anything extra," he said. "Didn't you search the camp yet? I'll bet they have gold dragons."

Disappointingly, the bandits did not have much coin, but their other possessions proved to be numerous and varied. Septa Alanna picked up a large scroll of parchment and unrolled it curiously. "What is this map for, Maester?" she gestured to him. Rudolphus took the paper and angled it towards the fire.  
"It's a map to the last known location of the fabled sword Blackfyre," he said with an astonishment he could not entirely suppress. "The Valyrian steel sword that sparked the rebellion of the Blackfyre pretenders." Alanna and Merik looked stunned by this revelation, but Jonah merely looked confused. It occurred to the Maester that to a boy his age, who had never known anything other than the rule of King Robert, House Targaryen must sound almost akin to myth. How quickly history fades to legend in a generation, he reflected regretfully.

"What do you suggest we do with this, Maester Rudolphus?" Alanna's careful voice filtered into his thoughts. "Could we retrieve the sword for the house? The value of possessing such an heirloom would be a boon to us in these difficult times."  
For once the Maester had to admit he did not know. "It is likely that holding such a sword would bring us more danger than status, but we will guard the map closely until I can research it further. Such a valuable item could prove useful in many situations." Depending on who is looking for it, he added mentally. It could prove to be the most perilous thing they owned. And as he scrolled the map back up and stowed it with his other belongings, he found himself plagued by another concern: what would a pack of common bandits be doing with such a legendary item?

They reemerged on the Kingsroad in the lands of House Roote, who agreed to take the captive bandits off their hands. He had hoped that they would offer them sanctuary for the night as well, but proud Alanna did not ask for their help so the Moorsheads made camp nearby instead. 

That evening Maester Rudolphus sat by the fire with a steaming cup of mulled wine. The pungent aroma reminded him acutely of the many cups he had sipped during the debates of history, philosophy, and medicine with the other maesters and acolytes in training back at the training Citadel in Oldtown. Everything had felt so vivid back then, when even the vibrating threads of the universe itself had seemed malleable and fluid beneath their probing, inquisitive minds. Compared to the company of such deep and brilliant minds, the life he was living now felt like a weak, faded mockery of years past.

"May I speak with you for a moment, Ser Merik?" Alanna murmured from her place beside the campfire. The knight followed her obediently beyond the ring of light, into the trees.  
His squire, who had been indifferently stirring the supper stew, watched them go through his bangs. After a discreet pause, he disappeared behind them into the forest, and Rudolphus smirked. So little of what went on in a journeying party was private. Still, the boy needn't have exerted himself so--- as Alanna and Merik began to speak their voices drifted straight back towards the campsite, borne by the wind which still blew through the trees. 

"You fought bravely, Ser Merik," Alanna was saying. "I had never seen you in combat before. I appreciate the risks you take to keep us all safe."  
Merik let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I did not fight so well today, in truth," he replied. "I need to practice my horsemanship if I expect to win a joust in the upcoming tourney." A pause, and then he went on almost shyly. "But _you_ , my lady, you fought very well. I had never seen a woman fire a crossbow before. You have a skilled eye."  
Alanna accepted the praise demurely. "I will do anything for my house," she murmured. "I learned to shoot in case I ran into the unexpected on my way to pray with the smallfolk." Another pause. "You may... tell your squire that he also fought well today."  
Merik's tone was relieved and warm. "I knew you would grow to like him," he said.  
"I did not say that!" Alanna snapped immediately. "He is a devious and ill-tempered boy that will no doubt bring shame upon our house. I simply wish to apologize for my rudeness towards you on the subject. If you want a boy like _that_ by your side instead of your nephew--- Nolan's own _son_ \--- that is your affair."  
Merik said nothing for a while, and Rudolphus was amazed by the extent of Alanna's blind spot. It was obvious even to him that the old knight had already bonded to the boy, irrespective of his personality or perceived fighting skill. Men like Merik, with no wife or heirs to call their own and tightly bound by duty both real and perceived, did not live in an emotionless void, and Jonah's presence was obviously giving the knight something he lacked. "There is nothing to forgive, my lady," he heard Merik reply at last, rigidly. 

The Maester was deep in his book when Alanna and Merik returned to sit around the fire, and Jonah strolled back nonchalantly a few moments later.  
"Where have _you_ been?" Alanna asked suspiciously.  
The squire did not hesitate. "Pissing in the woods," he announced, taking in Alanna's reaction with open enjoyment.  
Merik leapt up. "Boy," he said sternly. "When you address a noblewoman, you must have respectful speech. Try that again."  
Jonah's glance darted from his knight to the Septa and back again. "Pissing in the woods, _milady_ ," he retorted flippantly. The Maester snickered as the knight grabbed the boy's arm and dragged him away from the fire to berate or beat him.

Alanna exhaled irritably, but Rudolphus refused to engage her. Instead The discovery of the map had thrown him out of his reckoning, and he wondered despite himself if it might not be a portent of some sort, signaling difficult or momentous times ahead for the Seven Kingdoms. Though he did not admit to caring much for his companions he began to feel a diffuse sympathy for them, especially for Alanna, the noble lady of a minor rural house whose assignment it was to navigate the unfamiliar and dangerous waters of King's Landing. A mistake there could cost the Moorsheads--- much.

As the night deepened he offered to take the first watch, and spent the time flipping through his history book, through the pages on the Tullys, the Lannisters, all the houses who had risen and held onto to great power throughout the ages of Westeros. _The mistakes of the past were lessons for the future,_ went a common saying among his peers, but all he found within its pages was the same unforgiving story, told and retold throughout the ages: arms and steel could win power, but it took intelligence and cunning to keep it. It remained to be seen if any of them had what it took to keep House Moorshead alive.


End file.
